


Six Months

by Kirsten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-20
Updated: 2008-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's got a calculator in his pocket. It mars the line of his jeans over his hips, wrinkles the denim in ways too enticing for Sam to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Months

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle.

Dean's got a calculator in his pocket. It mars the line of his jeans over his hips, wrinkles the denim in ways too enticing for Sam to resist. He smoothes a hand over Dean's body, across his stomach and groin, and the imperfection becomes a convenience when Sam crooks his fingers in the fabric and uses it to tug Dean close.

Dean doesn't fight him. Dean's eyes don't get wide and there's no catch in his breathing. He's solid, as steady as he ever was, and he looks up at Sam without reaction. Just takes his fill of Sam, like Sam is still his for the taking.

He's wearing a worn old tee Sam remembers buying in Target six months ago, and one of their dad's old hunting shirts, complete with faded blood splatter. He's dressed and ready to go and standing in a library with a calculator in his pocket and glasses perched across his nose.

"You're different," Dean tells him, when he's finished his examination.

 _So are you,_ is what Sam doesn't say. He presses his gun hip into Dean's stomach, hard. Sam won't be the only one fighting a flinch.

Dean just rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Sammy," and he's already dropping to his knees. "All you had to do was ask."

He unfastens Sam's jeans with sturdy hands, and Sam puts his own hands on Dean's head. Dean's hair is still short, cropped too close to his head for Sam to get any leverage, so Sam cradles him instead, holds him steady, and Dean's humming with pleasure when he finally takes Sam's dick in his mouth.

It's slick and hot and messy as hell, and Dean blinks up at him while he sucks and licks, gets Sam good and wet. His eyes are full of hard-earned wisdom and hard-earned fun, like it's something Dean's had to work at to achieve, and he looks cleaner, for all he's dressed up in their gear. Sam's still covered in the grime of a salt and burn the next town over, and Dean's captivating and infuriating, and Sam tightens his hands on Dean's head to keep him still.

"Never thought I'd get to fuck you in a _library_ ," Sam grinds out, thrusting into Dean's mouth. "So pathetic, Dean, with your calculator, and your homework, and your stupid little _friends_. You like this? You like kneeling down for me while I fuck you like a whore?"

Dean's glasses are skewed and he's holding on tight to Sam's hips, clutching at him, clinging. Sam likes that and keeps the pace hard and fast, until Dean chokes and gags. Then Sam slows, gives him a chance to breathe, and then Sam makes him take it deep.

"I'm going to come down your throat," Sam says, and does exactly that. Dean's throat is tight around his dick, convulsing while Dean fights his reflex, and Sam holds him there until Dean panics and pulls back.

Dean's face is flushed pink, prettier than usual, and Sam wipes himself off on Dean's lips and cheeks, smears spit and come across the lenses of his glasses. Fucked out was always a good look for him.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean says again. He stands, slowly, and his knees crack. There's a faint stain at the crotch of his jeans, and Sam reaches out and rubs it darker. Dean hisses and pushes him away. "Cut it out."

"Fuck you." Sam shoves him back and makes a show of zipping up.

Dean doesn't seem impressed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, takes off his glasses and tries to clean them up with dad's blood-splattered old hunting shirt. He looks used, wasted, bruised up and left for nothing.

Eventually he gives up on the glasses and just straightens and squares his shoulders. "You're just pissed I left before you could."

"No," says Sam. "I'm pissed because you left."


End file.
